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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809930">Grazes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Small_Writer/pseuds/One_Small_Writer'>One_Small_Writer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Minor Injuries, Protective Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_Small_Writer/pseuds/One_Small_Writer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha trips and grazes her knee while running down the hallway, Steve insists on taking care of her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Grazes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've only just gotten into the Marvel fandom, like within the past two weeks, and I'm already obsessed. I haven't watched past The Avengers yet, minus when my best friend showed me Guardians Of the Galaxy (She's the one who got me into the fandom), and when she showed me Winter Solider I became obsessed with these two. SHe's already told me nothing ever happens so I don't get my hopes up, but I was too far gone to care. In three days I had 48 AO3 fics saved.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was Natasha's own fault really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait no, scratch that. It was Clint's fault, and then Natasha's. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn't have happened if Clint hadn't left his damn shoes on the floor, because seriously, who leaves their shoes in the middle of the hallway?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It also wouldn't have happened if Natasha hadn't been running, but she wasn't about to admit that. Better Clint take the blame than her anyway, he was the idiot who apparently didn't know what a shoe rack looked like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn't even a logical reason for her to be running. There wasn't a mission she had to rush off too, no urgent matters to attend to and no immediate threat to her or others, she was just running. The only reason she had, which was a rather pathetic one in her mind, was that she was running because she heard there was cake in the kitchen and she wanted to get to it before everyone else (Tony, Clint and Thor mainly) ate it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emphasis on the was running part. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>running until Clint's shoes jumped out at her and she stacked it, landing hands and knees on the rough linoleum floor with a thud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck," She let out, both at the shock of the fall and the short-lived sting in her palms and knees. She sat back on her knees and turned to see what she fell on, swearing again when she saw what it was. “Fucking hell Clint!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve, who Natasha had texted about the cake as soon as she found out and was following her down the hallway at a much slower pace, ran up to her, having seen the whole thing. “Nat,” He said, rushing to her side and laying his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Natasha nodded, “I’m fine, just a trip.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve grabbed her hands in his own and traced the new grazes on her palms lightly, biting his lip at the small swirls of blood and specs of dirt and dust lining her hands. He glanced down at her knees, uncovered by the pair of shorts she was wearing (Rare for her, but it was a lazy day), and saw more blood. He sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, come on. Let’s go back to my floor and get you patched up.” Steve stood and pulled Natasha up with him, keeping his hand in hers as he started towards the elevator.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Patch me up? Steve, it’s a tiny graze. It doesn’t even count as a minor injury, it hardly counts as an injury at all,” She laughed almost in disbelief, raising an eyebrow at the back of Steve’s head as she let him lead her forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve stopped and sighed again, turning to her and picking up her other hand. “I know, but this floor is filthy and your hands and knees are covered in dirt and God knows what else, they could get infected. Besides, you’re still bleeding and that still needs to be covered regardless. Just let me clean them and get you a bandaid at least, please?” He asked although it came out more like a plead. He knew Natasha was as tough as nails and had endured much, much worse than a simple grazed knee, but he could help but worry and want to dote over her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha rolled her eyes, but her heart warmed over how concerned he was. “What about the cake?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve rolled his eyes right back. “Sweetheart, I will buy you your own cake if that’s what you so desire, a cake you won’t have to share with anyone else but me if you let me clean your grazes. How does that sound?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha pretended to think about it for a moment, though in reality, she'd never pass up a cake for herself (Or most things Steve asked her to do, especially when he pulled those puppy eyes on her, even if those things were a little ridiculous) before looking up at him with a pretend huff. "Fine, if you insist. But we better be going to get cake the second you are done."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nodded and start to pull her again. "You bet."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the elevator, Steve inspected Natasha’s hands closer, spotting a small piece of rock sitting in the middle of the graze on her left palm. He held it up for her to see. “I told you we should clean it out. There’s a rock in there,” He said, unable to keep the smug grin off his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah okay. Calm yourself down, you shouldn’t sound so happy about a rock in your girlfriend’s hand,” She teased, feigning seriousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s smile dropped in an instant, being replaced with a look of guilt mixed with mild panic. “No, Nat, I didn’t mean it like that,” He rushed, squeezing her fingers with one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Natasha’s turn to smirk, her serious facade cracking as she laughed. “Steve, I’m teasing. It’s fine,” She grinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve let out a breathy laugh, relieved. “You’re a devil sometimes, you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha hummed. “You love me though, so it’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do,” Steve nodded, tilting her chin up and bringing her in for a kiss until the ding of the elevator interrupted them, “Come on then devil, you’ve got blood dripping into your sock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha’s mouth dropped open and she looked down, sighing at the small trickle of blood running down her leg and into her socks. It was nothing compared to the past, but she liked those socks damn it. Steve gave her a pointed look and she sent him a playful glare back. “Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve held his hand up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say a word.” He opened the door and pulled her through, directing her to the kitchen as he went to the bathroom to get his first aid kit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha pulled herself up to sit on the bench and pulled her knees up to her chest to get a proper look at them. Like her hand, there seemed to be a rock, or something resembling a rock, sitting on the surface. She assumed they must have come out of Clint’s shoes when he took them off because the floor didn’t usually have rocks on it (But then again, they were small enough that no one passing would really see it or do anything about them if they were there before).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled off her soiled socks and held them in her lap, her knees now dangling over the edge of the bench. “Hey Steve,” She called out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” He yelled back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you grab me another pair of socks on your way back please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leant over into his kitchen drawer and pulled out a sandwich bag to put her socks in and threw them down beside her on the bench, swinging her legs until Steve came back. He held up the first aid kit and threw her the socks, a thick black pair of his, and came to sit on one of the stools beside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, I’m gonna have to use saline water to get the rocks out, and it’ll probably sting so I apologize in advance,” Steve said with a wince, ripping open one of the packets of water in the first aid kit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha rolled her eyes. “Steve, baby, I’ve been stabbed, shot, burnt, tortured among other things that if I listed we’d be sitting here all night. You’ve put pressure on my gunshot wounds, you’ve had to peel bits of clothes that burnt to my skin off me, you’ve had to pop my bones back into place. Do you seriously think some saline water is going to hurt me?” She asked fondly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve took a breath. “I know Nat, I just don’t want to hurt you,” He admitted, giving her a guilty smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, and I love you for that, but you’re not going to hurt me with some saline water. I’ve told you a hundred times, you never going to hurt me.” She ran the tips of her fingers over his hands. “I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I seem to recall you saying that right before I popped your knee in, only for you to swear me to hell and back a few seconds later,” Steve mumbled under his breath, grabbing her hand and turning it over, the bag just above the cut. “Brace yourself, little sting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve!” Natasha exclaimed with a giggle. “It’s fine, get on with it. I want cake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve laughed and spun her around so her hand was over the sink, pouring the contents over her hands before inspecting them again, running his finger over them gently to make sure everything had been taken out. It did sting a little, but not enough for Natasha to even really bat an eyelid over it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was that?” Steve asked, spinning her so she had had her legs in the kitchen sink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t even feel it,” She said, grinning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nodded and did the same to her knees as he did her hands, cleaning the dried blood before grabbing four bandaids out of the kit. He put two normal ones on both her knees and on her hands he’d dug out some Captain America ones Tony had given him as a gag gift because apparently, you could buy bandaids themed to them, which was quite possibly the weirdest thing in the world. Natasha hadn’t noticed until both were on, he was too quick for her to notice anything different and she wasn’t really focused on the bandaids, not when Steve’s face was right near hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss it better?” She asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at him. He smiled and brought her hands to his lips, kissing her palms gently. Once he let her hands go she reached up to kiss him properly, cupping his face and smiling against his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” She said when she pulled back, “Time to get some cake.” She went to grab the socks beside her and when she caught sight of her hands let out a giggle. “Steve?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked over at her and smirked. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I even ask why you have bandaids with your shield on them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gift from Tony. Thought you’d appreciate them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh you know it,” She laughed, grabbing the pair of sneakers she kept there and sitting beside him on the couch as he tied his boots. “Next time you get injured remind me to try and find some Black Widow bandaids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” He kissed her hair and stood, pulling her up off the couch, “Now come on, our cake awaits.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once, when I was really little (Like, seven) I fell over at school and had blood pouring down my leg, and my best friend ran around the school, with me trailing behind him trying not to cry, screaming "BBFA" which meant 'Bleeding Best Friend Alert' as we tried to find a teacher or, for some reason, his big brother (Like he was going to do anything to help us). We were weird kids. Anyway, I thought of that while writing this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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